


Last Night

by The_Audacity



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29595234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Audacity/pseuds/The_Audacity
Summary: They can’t forget what happened last night, even though they really should.
Relationships: Ishida Uryuu & Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

The toes of someone’s foot were digging into Ichigo’s back and he shifted sideways to get them out. He accidentally nudged Tatsuki’s hip in the process but all she did was hum sleepily. Probably because she was asleep. They all were except Ishida, who was giving him the evil eye for scooting closer. It wasn’t like Ichigo had intended to invade his precious personal bubble but space was kind of limited at the moment, seeing as everyone was piled in a heap on the wide pallet Inoue had made of her futon plus spare bedding.

“You’re touching me, Kurosaki.”

“Then move over.”

“I can’t,” he quietly hissed and gestured to the body blocking him in from the other side, “Unless you expect me to shove Sado-kun out of the way.”

Ichigo snorted and said, “Good luck with that.”

The glare Ishida shot his way was diminished by a distinct lack of flashing glasses enhancing it. Ichigo was a little surprised the uber-dork didn’t sleep with them on, cautious and guarded as he always was. The fact that Ishida was having a hard time giving in to unconsciousness, however, wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Ichigo should’ve passed out hours ago but he kept having distracting thoughts that wouldn’t let him relax. Everything from the Blood War’s end a few weeks ago to graduation being just around the corner swirled and sparked in his brain, setting it frustratingly alight late into the night.

Those same musings keeping him awake were also the reasons they had all wound up there in the first place. It had begun with Keigo’s nostalgic suggestion during lunch at school that day and ended with the whole gang trekking to Inoue’s for a movie night. They’d stopped by a convenience store for snacks on the way and voted to make it a slumber party when no one felt like walking home after the last DVD was played. Tatsuki had grumbled something along the lines of propriety and a room full of boys but even she knew Inoue was safer with them than by herself any day.

Ichigo glanced at the snoozing girl and smiled at the teddy bear pajamas she’d changed into before bed, whereas everyone else had stripped to their undershirts or resorted to gym uniforms. Even wearing baggy, whimsical clothing the outline of Inoue’s mature figure was obvious. He could understand Tatsuki’s protectiveness because he felt it, too. Anyone brave enough to approach Inoue with romantic intentions would never get anywhere near her without earning her friends’ approval first.

Yet, the longer Ichigo watched her, the more he wondered why _he_ didn’t have romantic intentions. It really seemed as if he ought to see her that way. Inoue was beautiful and sweet and intelligent; any man should be thrilled to have a chance with her. Appreciating the silken splay of bright hair draping the curves of her shoulder and side, Ichigo imagined what dating her might be like. It’d be weird in the beginning but he’d bet they could make each other happy, and that was the point of having a relationship. Wasn’t it?

“You’re still touching me.”

“Get over it, Ishida. I don’t have room on my side, either.”

He made an agitated noise in the back of his throat and propped up on an elbow to scowl down at Ichigo. Rather than continue arguing, he reached across to push Mizuiro’s foot away from him and toward Keigo’s head. Neither of them stirred. The result was plenty of space cleared so Ichigo could scoot back, but he didn’t budge. He was too busy staring at the silken splay of dark hair along the side of Ishida’s face and marveling at the hint of shampoo wafting from it, although none of them had showered recently.

Ichigo realized they had probably never been this close before, outside of battle. Close enough to catch each other’s scent. Close enough to notice how long Ishida’s eyelashes were or how rich the blue of his irises were without his glasses shielding them. Close enough to feel the tide of his breath as he scoffed at Ichigo for remaining right where he was.

“Kurosaki, _move_ before I make you.”

“Love to see you try,” he murmured without malice.

“Oh, so you’re fine with me starting a wrestling match in the middle of all our sleeping friends? I’m sure that would end well.”

“Why does it bother you so much that our arms are touching?”

“It doesn’t matter why,” snapped Ishida, eyes narrowing dangerously. “What matters is I’ve asked you to move and—”

“More like _ordered_.”

It was a testament to how much they had both grown that he didn’t start shrieking at Ichigo like old times, but shifted to stand and stride across the apartment without another word wasted. Ishida didn’t give a backward glance as he slipped on his shoes and walked out the door.

Sitting up to blink after him in confusion, Ichigo tried and failed to understand exactly what had just happened. He stood to follow Ishida, unsure whether he went because he wanted to pester the boy more or to ask what his problem was. Part of him was still upset about the whole switching-sides thing with Yhwach. Even though it had turned out to be a feint, Ishida could’ve let someone in on his stupid plan. That he hadn’t trusted Ichigo not to give him away still stung every time he thought about it.

So did the fact that he’d ever been capable of believing the betrayal. Ishida was too secretive for his own damn good.

He was sulking in the concrete stairwell at the end of the open hallway. Slowly passing by the locked doors of Inoue’s neighbors, Ichigo paused near the last one to see how he’d react to the intrusion. Ishida just sighed silently as he gazed out at the slice of city on display from the second story. He took it as a positive sign and sat beside him, careful not to touch. The hush between them didn’t last long.

“It’s your reiatsu, dumbass.”

“Huh?”

Ishida gave him a sideways look and reluctantly explained, “Your reiatsu, when we touch…it’s distracting. I was having enough trouble drifting off without having to tune out your trademark spiritual dissonance on top of everything else.”

That was unexpected. And sort of interesting. “I didn’t realize you were that sensitive to it.”

“Don’t make it sound like—” He cut himself off, made a face, and proclaimed, “Of course I’d be sensitive to it when you radiate energy like a nuclear reactor! When will you learn to control it?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re the sponge to my ocean,” retorted Ichigo with a roll of his eyes. “Why don’t you soak it up and go hunt some Hollow? It’s good for insomnia.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped but Ishida didn’t shoot any more snark at him for the dig. He closed his eyes on a measured exhale and toyed with the silver chain wrapped around his wrist. It clinked and glinted under the idle attention, making Ichigo think of all the times he’d seen it swinging there over the years. Well, this one was different from the initial version but what it represented hadn’t changed. The Quincy lineage that meant so much to Ishida, the source of his unshakable pride. Ichigo wondered if that pride had wavered when he’d witnessed the ruin his clansmen had wrought in Seireitei.

“Go back inside, Kurosaki. Get some rest with the others.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Maybe not, but _I_ want you to.”

“Too bad.”

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Ishida complained, “God, you’re so…You’re just like that character in the movie we watched earlier.”

“Which one?”

“The man who wouldn’t stop showing up all the time, nagging and harassing that poor woman.”

“You mean that guy in the rom-com Inoue rented? The one who ended up proposing to ‘that poor woman’?”

“If it were real life, she would’ve slapped him instead of saying ‘yes’.”

“So, you’re saying you wanna slap me, Ishida? Go ahead. I’m sure I’ve got it coming for some reason or another.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he darkly muttered. Unable to stop himself, Ichigo laughed. The slant of Ishida’s eyebrows sharpened. “What’s so funny?”

“You just reminded me of the part where she’s snarling at the guy like she’s about to throw a punch. Then he kisses her and suddenly she’s into him.”

“Utterly ridiculous,” criticized Ishida. “As if the switch from rage to romance is that simple.”

“And the acting in that scene was awful. Talk about an awkward make-out session!”

“Are you an expert on kissing, Kurosaki? When was the last time you made out with anyone?”

Ichigo frowned at his mocking tone and said, “You don’t have to be an expert to tell good technique from bad.”

“What would your ‘technique’ entail? Mashing mouths until someone gets nauseous? Don’t pretend you have an ounce of finesse in your entire body.”

“But you’re the king of finesse, is that it? Just ‘cause you know how to fight doesn’t mean you know how to f—”

“I can do things with my tongue that would make a man _weep_ with joy. I…”

The fire faded from Ishida’s demeanor as he trailed off. He turned away and swallowed hard. Ichigo was dim sometimes but he wasn’t _that_ dim. Not enough to have missed the part where Ishida inadvertently outed himself while trying to brag about his nonexistent sexual prowess. At least, Ichigo assumed it was nonexistent by the way he was blushing after the fact.

“Wow, I cannot believe,” he began, seeing Ishida tense from anticipated scorn, “That you didn’t mention dexterity. Totally missed the perfect opportunity to bring up your freaky sewing skills.”

His eyes widened in astonishment as they sought Ichigo’s. He smirked at Ishida’s expression and gave him a second to regroup. Did he really think Ichigo would give a shit that he was gay? He’d kind of always suspected anyway.

“W-we were talking about kissing. Digital dexterity has nothing to do with it.”

“Actually, we were talking about making out. Which, if you didn’t know, can involve hands. And other body parts, occasionally.”

“You’re thinking of heavy petting. There’s a difference.”

“If you want to debate definitions, I’m done with this conversation.”

“If I knew semantics would get you to leave me alone—”

“Chicken. Backing out ‘cause you’re gonna lose the argument?”

Ishida shook his head and asked, “What are we even arguing about?”

“Which of us is the better kisser.”

Arching an eyebrow, he hesitantly prompted, “How are we supposed to decide that, Kurosaki? It’s not like we can snap some bait, smooch a few Hollow, and ask for qualitative feedback.”

“I can think of a couple ex-Espada who’d be up for that,” Ichigo asserted, snickering at the appalled face Ishida made, “But I had another idea in mind.”

Unease flitted across his features as he commanded, “Keep it in your mind, where your stupid ideas belong.”

He started to stand but Ichigo caught his wrist to keep him rooted, fingers curling around the delicate chain of his spirit weapon. Ishida made a soft noise as if the light hold hurt him. Maybe it did. Ichigo let go and searched his eyes for the answer to a question likely to be evaded.

“Is it because of my reiatsu?”

“It’s because you’re an idiot! Suggesting something like that…”

“I haven’t suggested anything yet.”

“You may as well have,” Ishida sullenly accused. “Go on, then. Let’s hear this brilliant idea of yours.”

The words were on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t say them. Ichigo stared at the classmate who had introduced himself with a declaration of war and considered how different their lives would’ve been if it had never happened, if they had never been rivals. The longer he stared, the more foolish he felt. Seriously, what was he thinking? Did he want to kiss Ishida so he could prove a lame point? Or did he just plain want to kiss Ishida? Even if he did, wasn’t this the worst possible way to do it?

Uncomfortable with the turn his thoughts had taken, Ichigo dropped his gaze and dismissed, “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

He stood and started walking back toward Inoue’s door. It was stress or anxiety or a combination of the two. Had to be. Why else would he be having such random notions about his friends? Brooding about romance and rivalry wasn’t like him. There were much more important matters to brood over than relationships; just not the life-or-death kind he was used to. He was better off pretending their entire exchange hadn’t happened and—

“Chicken.”

It was said so quietly that he almost didn’t hear it, but it still stopped him in his tracks as if he’d hit a brick wall. He turned to look at Ishida, who had also risen from the step and was gazing up at the stars beyond the veranda. Trying to play it cool while having the last word. As though sensing Ichigo’s annoyance, he tilted his head to the side at a slight angle. Just enough for their eyes to meet. He had a lot more stupid thoughts in that brief moment but only one he acted on.

Ishida sucked in a quick breath right before their mouths met. Ichigo immediately wished he’d done the same because his heart rate doubled between one second and the next. His lips were warm and smooth and pliant and parted a tiny bit, invitingly. He pressed more firmly against them and Ishida pressed right back. It wasn’t perfect. Actually, it was a little awkward since Ichigo had no way of predicting the other boy’s subtle movements in time to react as he should but it still felt good. Really, _really_ good.

There was a short sound like the prelude to a moan and he wasn’t sure which of them it came from. He lifted a hand with the instinctive aim of holding the back of Ishida’s head but stopped himself at the last instant. This situation was already strange enough without making any extra overtures that could be misinterpreted as…affection? Wasn’t that what it usually meant when two people held onto each other while kissing? Or maybe he was thinking of something else. Holding hands? Would expressing affection be so bad, though? Were rivals even allowed to have those sorts of feelings toward one another? No, rivals shouldn’t kiss at all. Unless…

_Shit_ , Ichigo inwardly swore because he was confusing himself and getting distracted. He didn’t want to think about anything but kissing Ishida. It took all of his concentration to keep up with the way his mouth was moving against Ichigo’s. Bold and purposeful, like it was a contest Ishida wanted to win and—Oh, right, it totally was. Well, Ichigo wasn’t about to lose that easily. He may not have had tons of experience but he could at least kiss better than Ishida, who seemed the type to cringe at PDA and blush at any mention of sex.

A shiver ran down Ichigo’s spine and his pulse pounded that much harder. Why the hell did he have to think of sex while making out with Ishida!? Now he was imagining things he had no right to imagine and there was an odd tightness in his stomach that made it really tough to focus on what his lips were doing when his brain was more interested in what other parts of his body _could_ be doing instead. As if it wasn’t complicated enough trying to slow his thoughts when Ishida was dead set on making them race.

The kiss ended abruptly and Ichigo was left blinking dazedly in the aftermath. Ishida wiped his mouth on the back of a long-sleeved shirt, folded his arms, and frowned.

“Just as I thought. You’re a terrible kisser, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo was embarrassed. Both by how strongly the impromptu make-out session had affected him and by Ishida’s harsh judgment. So, he said something he hoped would make him feel embarrassed, too.

“Yeah? Well, it’s kinda hard to give a hundred percent when the person I’m kissing is _you_.”

His eyebrows scrunched with hate and hurt in tandem. “Go to hell, Shinigami.”

Remorse sizzled across his skin like acid as Ichigo watched him pivot on a heel and head for the stairs. “H-hey, wait! Where are you going?”

“ _Home_.”

“What about your stuff?” Ishida reached the lower level in record time and didn’t bother replying. “Quit being dramatic, damn it! Don’t you need your glasses?”

Without looking back, he snarled, “I have a spare!”

Ichigo debated chasing after him but he didn’t know what he’d even say. ‘Sorry’ wasn’t an option and anything else was bound to piss him off more. The whole idea was idiotic, as Ishida had stated from the start. If Ichigo could’ve taken it back…

He couldn’t finish that thought, or any that came after. His mind kept returning to the kiss, replaying and analyzing and lingering. He went back into Inoue’s apartment and found her form among the pile of his friends. It should’ve been easy to envision doing with her what he had done with Ishida. It should’ve been just as pleasant or more so. But the prospect of kissing Inoue didn’t make his insides wriggle and his face heat. Didn’t shorten his breath and speed his heartbeat. Didn’t make him wish they could do it again and again until hands went wandering, clothes came off, and—

The flow of dangerous imagery was halted by a light knock of his head against the door he was leaning against. Ichigo shut his eyes and sighed. It was going to be a long weekend.

“Is, uh…your son home?” Ishida’s dad regarded him with the same bland disdain his kid favored more often than not. “I have his, um, school bag. That he forgot. At a friend’s house. Last night.”

Ichigo didn’t know why he couldn’t get a full sentence out in one go. Maybe it was the fact that he was insanely nervous about showing up at Ishida’s house for the first time ever, uninvited and most likely unappreciated. He’d had no clue he still lived with his father. Based on what little Ichigo knew about their relationship—and Ishida’s lack of finances—he’d pictured the boy renting a tiny studio apartment like Chad and Inoue. Imagine his shock when he’d followed Ishida’s reiraku to a small _mansion_ in the nicer part of town!

“He’s in his room,” replied Ishida senior in a flat tone, “Studying.”

The way he said the latter made Ichigo think it was a warning and a rebuke all in one. Regardless, he stepped aside to allow entry and pointed to a relevant hall before walking off in the opposite direction. Ichigo watched the man go until he rounded a corner out of sight. Then he focused on Ishida’s spiritual signature until he found what was hopefully the right door. He raised a fist to knock but it swung open before he got the chance.

“I’m surprised he let you in,” dryly commented Ishida, looking very cozy in athletic shorts and a loose t-shirt. He was wearing his spare pair of glasses, identical to the originals. “Ryuuken hates you more than I do.”

“You don’t hate me.” Though he probably wished he did sometimes. Today, for example. “Can I come in, or what?”

“Why are you here, Kurosaki?”

“I brought your stuff,” he answered, holding it up as proof. “Figured you’d have a panic attack if you couldn’t get Friday’s homework done by Saturday night.”

His scowl deepened as he snatched the bag and retorted, “Mission accomplished. Now leave.”

“I don’t even get a ‘thanks’ for going out of my way? Or did you expect Inoue to walk all the way across town?”

“Actually, I had planned to get it from her tomorrow afternoon during our scheduled study session,” snottily corrected Ishida, dropping his bag behind the door to push up his glasses and cross his arms—his two favorite defensive gestures. “But thanks ever so much for sparing us both the trouble.”

“You’re welcome,” Ichigo grit.

Reaching out to shut the door in his face, Ishida made an affronted noise as his guest pushed inside and shut it behind himself instead. He took a step back when Ichigo moved forward.

“ _Kurosaki_ —”

“I want a rematch.”

His eyebrows shot up before sinking low. “Have you lost your mind, Shinigami!?”

Given the way Ichigo was feeling lately, that was entirely possible. He had thought about it all night until he finally fell asleep and all day since he’d woken up. It was crazy, he knew, but he wanted to kiss Ishida again. Ichigo was curious to take it a little further and it was Ishida’s fault for talking about tongues in the first place. Just one more time and then he could get over it. Besides, he wanted a second chance to prove he wasn’t a ‘terrible kisser’ as the boy had claimed.

“Look, I take back what I said last night. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“How did you mean it, then?”

He tilted his chin up in challenge and really, Ichigo couldn’t blame him for taking offense to a statement that was meant to be offensive. While he still couldn’t bring himself to apologize directly, he could at least admit the truth.

“I didn’t realize kissing you would feel so…”

“So…what?”

Fucking amazing, to be painfully honest. It wasn’t like he was about to say that aloud, though. He dragged a hand through his hair and avoided Ishida’s assessing stare. If Ichigo wasn’t careful, everything he didn’t want known would be read by that sharp gaze.

“It just caught me off-guard, okay? I’ll be ready this time.”

“You don’t know when to accept defeat, do you?” He shook his head and walked away, pausing halfway between his desk and the edge of his bed. Without glancing at him, Ishida said, “Go play ‘who’s the better kisser’ with someone else. I’m not interested.”

If it was true, why couldn’t he say it to Ichigo’s face?

He went to stand in front of Ishida and goad, “Or maybe you’re worried I’ll win the next round. What happened to the confidence you had when you talked about making men cry with your tongue?”

The glare he aimed at Ichigo was weak at best. “You’re lucky I didn’t use it last night. You’d never stand a chance against me if I did.”

“Only one way to find out,” he argued, stepping closer. “Unless you’re scared, Ishida.”

“The only thing that scares me is your oral hygiene. When was the last time you brushed your teeth?”

“After dinner, about an hour ago.” A slightly mollified expression was a fleeting addition to the overall irritable theme. He started to make some other excuse but Ichigo interrupted, “If you want to forfeit, just say so.”

“I already _won_ , in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Doesn’t count if it wasn’t a fair fight.”

“What’s ‘unfair’ is that it happened at all. I can’t believe you tricked me into—”

“I tricked you?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t remember forcing you to kiss me.” Ichigo raised an eyebrow and added, “I don’t even think you ever said ‘no’. You still haven’t.”

That shut him up. Ishida averted his eyes as color rushed to his cheeks. Any agitation Ichigo felt toward him for being difficult vanished at the sight. However stoic and controlled Ishida acted, he was just as nervous and uncertain as Ichigo. Neither of them really knew what they were doing. But he definitely knew what he _wanted_ to do.

There was this little spark in his chest that spread outward the moment their lips made contact, same as the first time. Ishida made a surprised sound that tipped up at the end like a question. A palm was placed against Ichigo’s shoulder but he didn’t push him away. Ichigo took hold of that wrist, bringing it back down by their sides, and buried his other hand into Ishida’s hair. It felt so much more natural. And intimate.

A handful of seconds in, he turned his head aside with a gasp to ask, “Kurosaki, why are y—”

Ichigo kissed him again more insistently and Ishida didn’t try a second time. He made a different sound, low and determined, as he returned the gesture with enthusiasm. The serious attempt set Ichigo’s head spinning pleasantly. Making out was awesome, he decided. It was his new favorite pastime. The activity was so engaging that he didn’t notice Ishida was gradually guiding him backward until he almost lost balance bumping the edge of the mattress.

Just as the question of what he might be plotting began to form in Ichigo’s mind, it was answered by a sudden shove and his butt bounced on the bed. The complaint he started to voice lost momentum as Ishida braced a knee between spread thighs and plucked off his glasses. Ichigo swallowed at the fierce look in blue eyes. Yet, he couldn’t say he was unhappy with the result when Ishida placed both palms to his shoulders and leaned down to showcase self-professed lingual finesse.

A flood of molten want poured into Ichigo’s gut from the very first touch of their tongues because—Oh, shit! _Shitshitshit_ , it felt so wonderful he groaned and his hands sought Ishida’s hips on impulse. As dizzying as it was, Ichigo didn’t miss the hitch in his breathing caused by a tight grip there. Ishida deepened the kiss a little more and seemed to sink a little closer to him. There was so much heat between them then that the air grew thinner. His lungs had to work twice as hard for it but he wasn’t the only one struggling for breath.

Ichigo’s heart was racing. His fingers itched to roam and it would’ve been so easy with how loose Ishida’s clothes were, their skin only separated by a few light layers. He ached to bring them flush together but he didn’t dare. It wasn’t worth the risk when it felt like Ichigo would keel right over if they had to stop kissing. Thankfully, Ishida didn’t stop kissing him. Not even when Ichigo slipped a few fingers beneath the hem of his shirt to trace across a sensitive patch of his lower back.

Ishida was going to win this round, too, it was obvious. If only because Ichigo was completely incapable of concentrating on anything other than how much this was turning him on. He couldn’t decide which he wanted to do more: keep sneakily feeling up Ishida or attend to the pressure building in his groin. The options were equally thrilling and daunting because he’d never done anything like this before. There was surely a slew of etiquette for these sorts of situations that he had yet to learn. All he could do was go with his instincts and hope he didn’t make a massive mistake in the process.

The longer they kept at it, the more his instincts had to take over in place of his overloaded brain. It was becoming harder to ignore the urges he knew were horrible ideas but seemed great in context. There were so many things he wanted to do with Ishida—and _to_ him—that his control began to slip. It wasn’t enough to kiss and kind of hold him anymore. Ichigo wanted…he needed…

It happened so fast and he wasn’t sure how but he suddenly had Ishida bracketed below him on the bed with his hair splayed out and his eyes flared wide. Ichigo’s thigh was between his legs and all he had to do was shift it a little higher. The sound of Ishida’s semi-stifled moan was like liquid wildfire in his blood. The way he bit his lip and arched from unexpected pleasure was even better. Ichigo wanted to kiss him again but Ishida was panting so hard that he settled for nibbling the side of his neck instead.

“ _Fuck_ …Kurosaki,” he said in a breathless, urgent tone that Ichigo instantly fell in love with. “I need…”

He shivered at the prospect of those two words alone and murmured, “Tell me and I’ll do it, Ishida.”

“I need you to stop.”

Surely he’d heard that wrong. “Huh?”

“I said stop!” He pushed Ichigo off him and griped, “Who gave you permission to touch me like that, idiot?”

It took him a minute to work through everything and figure out where he’d messed up. Oh, maybe it was the part where he had almost made Ishida come without asking whether or not that was something he’d appreciate.

“Sorry,” Ichigo sincerely said. “I thought you were into it.”

Draping an arm over his eyes on a short sigh, he reluctantly muttered, “I was.”

“Then why…?”

He fell silent because he saw the way Ishida’s fingers fisted into the shirt above his belly. Right below that, Ichigo saw that he was still excited. They both were and he wanted so badly for Ishida to change his mind, to let him close again until the thick bubble of tension suffocating them finally burst. But even more than that, he wanted them to be okay.

Ichigo apologized twice for good measure and watched his friend for any sign of forgiveness. A long pause later, Ishida moved his arm and glanced over at him. “What are we doing, Kurosaki?”

The serious set of his features told Ichigo he wasn’t asking for a technical description but anything beyond that was not his forte. Leave it to Ishida to overcomplicate and overanalyze something best left simple. Ichigo didn’t know, either. It wasn’t like he had planned any of this. All he knew was being with Ishida this way was one of the most exhilarating, satisfying things he’d ever done and he wanted more of that feeling.

Only if it didn’t cost him their friendship to have it.

“We’re…fooling around? That’s something people do, isn’t it?”

“I never thought it could be something _you_ would do. Especially not with me.”

“What does that mean? Why not you?”

Giving Ichigo a long-suffering look for his apparent stupidity, he replied, “For one, I didn’t realize you were gay.”

“Neither did I, until last night.” Ishida’s eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. “What? Is it so hard to believe I’ve never given it much thought? I’d sorta been busy fighting one asshole after another just to keep my friends and family safe for the past two-plus years. Not a lot of opportunity to ponder sexual orientation when you’re worried about who’s gonna come after you next.”

He considered that for a moment and grudgingly allowed, “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Glad to have your approval,” grumbled Ichigo.

“That still doesn’t explain why you would choose me when you could have just about anyone.”

Distracted by the slant compliment, he smirked and skipped over Ishida’s misplaced insecurity. “You really think I could have anyone?”

“ _Almost_ anyone. While your intelligence is questionable, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with your body. Keeping tally of all the girls who develop a crush-at-first-sight is a minor hobby of mine.”

Whether or not he was joking, Ichigo laughed. His smile widened to catch a hint of one emerging on Ishida.

“I could say the same about you. You’d have a drawer full of love letters if you were a little friendlier at school. Did you know Michiru sighs every time she sees you?”

“Now you see why cruelty is a kindness in this case. Why get her hopes up when nothing will ever happen between us?”

“By that logic, shouldn’t you be a lot nicer to me? I might be the only other gay guy in Karakura High.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“The being nice part or being your only option?”

“Both.”

He laughed again, and this time Ishida quietly mimicked it. The revelation that they were flirting floored Ichigo, sucking the humor right out of him. What if it wasn’t just a physical attraction? What if he legitimately _liked_ Ishida? Going by the cold attitude he’d always maintained toward Ichigo, it wasn’t a leap to guess the feeling would not be mutual. Not at first, though there was always the potential to bring him around. Ishida had a soft side even if he’d swear up and down he didn’t.

But Ichigo was getting way ahead of himself.

“So, is this something you could…be all right with?” he haltingly proposed. “And by ‘this’ I mean, uh…”

“Casual sex?”

“Y-yeah, that.”

Ishida sat up and waited for him to do the same before soberly replying, “For once in your life, Kurosaki, think this through. If it still sounds like a good idea next week, ask me again.”

It was more of a ‘yes’ than a ‘no’ but it still sat like a sack of rocks in his stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

Someone was shaking his shoulder and calling his name. The daze Ichigo had fallen into was slow to retreat. He tore his eyes from the object of his fascination and blinked dimly at whoever was bothering him. It was Tatsuki.

“What’s up with you lately?” she asked when he finally looked up. “Did you hear a word I just said?”

“Um…no.”

Because he was too busy staring at the back of Ishida’s head and daydreaming about what they could’ve been doing instead, like he had been all week. This wasn’t the first time he’d been caught, either. Quick thinking had urged him to claim he was watching the clock, which happened to be mounted above Ishida’s head from his line of sight two desks back and one over. Whether or not Keigo had believed the lie, at least he hadn’t called Ichigo out on it.

Tatsuki propped a fist on her hip and sighed. “We’re all going to the park to play soccer. Wanna join us?”

“Not today. I’ve got other plans.”

Or he hoped he did, considering it was Friday and it had almost been a full week since Ishida had told him to think things through. He had done almost nothing else and waiting one more day to talk with the boy stuck on his mind was liable to kill him.

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and said, “See you later.”

“Yeah.”

From the front of the room, the teacher addressed the chattering students who had already begun packing their things to leave for the day. “Do we have a couple of volunteers for clean-up?”

Ichigo’s spine straightened as he raised his hand to answer, “Ishida and I will do it.” The class went quiet and nearly every pair of eyes found him, including Ishida’s. He met that questioning gaze and asked, “You don’t have club stuff, right?”

“No,” was all the Student Council President elected to say.

“Great, then we’ll do it,” Ichigo informed their teacher. A round of whispers picked up around him, prompting him to lean over and softly ask Mizuiro, “Was that weird?”

“Yep,” he chirped without hesitation.

“Shit.”

He slouched in his seat and tried to act casual as students started walking past him toward the exit. It wasn’t his intention to draw attention to the fact that he was kind of obsessing over Ishida. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he leaned back and gazed out the window until everyone but the two of them were gone. The last person to leave shut the door behind herself. Only then did Ichigo dare to turn away from the sky’s neutral blue vista.

His eyes locked onto the charged blue of Ishida’s instead. He was standing in front of Ichigo’s desk, studying him with an inscrutable expression.

“There are more subtle ways to get me alone, Kurosaki.”

Frowning defensively, he grumbled, “Well, I couldn’t find you during lunch and you didn’t answer my text.”

“The one you sent in the middle of final period? Some of us actually try to stay focused in class.” The way he said it implied he was well aware of being stared at every day and he did not approve. “I would have responded after. What is so important that you had to incite gossip over it?”

“No one cares enough to gossip about us,” asserted Ichigo with a roll of his eyes.

Ishida crossed his arms and archly retorted, “If your fans found out you kissed me, I’d be mauled on principle.”

“If _your_ fans knew I wanted to do it again, I’d be thrown off the roof.”

The admission gave him pause. He broke eye contact with Ichigo and muttered, “Don’t tell me you’re seriously considering—”

“I’m done considering, Ishida.” He stood to step in front of the boy, still refusing to look directly at him. “I’ve made my decision and yes, I’m sure. I want to do this with you and no, I can’t wait until tomorrow to say it.” Ichigo eased closer, lowered his voice, and continued, “I won’t change my mind because I want you so much I can’t stand it and I feel like I’ll go crazy unless you let me—”

A cool palm clamped over his mouth to keep him from kissing Ishida, as he’d been leaning in to do. His expression was a confusing combination of anger and longing that made Ichigo’s stomach drop. The weight of that stare was so hard to bear he sort of wished Ishida would look away again.

“No.”

Ichigo grasped his wrist to pull the silencing hand away and splutter, “No? The hell do you mean _no_? I thought you said—”

“You’re not the only one who needed time to think,” he snapped, tugging his arm from the loose hold. “It isn’t solely your decision and just because you don’t agree with it doesn’t mean I’ll change my answer.”

He was a little stunned, to say the least. Of all the scenarios Ichigo had imagined, this one had never cropped up as a possibility. Not when he knew Ishida had enjoyed kissing him, too. If he was that adamant about declining, however, there had to be more to it than attraction or inclination.

“Why not?”

A short huff of strained laughter conveyed anything but amusement. Ishida shook his head and replied, “Why would I? It’s a terrible idea, Kurosaki! I’ve said so from the beginning.”

“What about it is so terrible?”

“We’re enemies, for one.”

“No, we aren’t. We’re friends—close friends who happen to be hot for each other.”

A hint of pink spilled across the tops of Ishida’s cheeks. Scowling, he went on, “We despise each other.”

“Wrong. I’ve always liked hanging out with you. Why do you think I kept inviting you to eat lunch together and stuff?”

“We argue too much,” he growled, desperate to find something Ichigo couldn’t contradict.

“Maybe. But it’s hard to argue when our tongues are wrapped around each other.” Ishida was definitely blushing at that. Sensing susceptibility, Ichigo dove even deeper into the debate. “Gripe as much as you want, call me an idiot all night long if it makes you happy. I don’t care as long as I get to make you come.”

His breath hissed out sharply and he turned to head for the door. A tight grip on Ishida’s elbow stopped him, but he whirled to shove hard at his captor. Ichigo would not be dislodged. He grabbed a fistful of the boy’s grey uniform jacket and heaved him over to slam up against a narrow section of the wall between windows. The recoil caused his glasses to slide down his nose and his hair to shift forward, covering one eye. Ishida clenched his jaw and glared full-force.

“Really, Kurosaki?” He sounded slightly more annoyed than irate.

“What?”

“Could this scenario be any more of a high school cliché? Are you planning to molest me right here in the classroom?”

“I was thinking about it,” he bluntly confessed.

Arching his visible eyebrow, Ishida drawled, “I hope you realize it would take a lot more than being pinned to a wall for me to ever risk getting caught in an act of public indecency. With a _Shinigami_ , of all people…”

“Oh, whatever. Don’t act like you give a shit about that anymore. I’m part Quincy, too, you know. If one of us was a woman, your dad would be trying to marry us off!”

His expression of abject astonishment was oddly satisfying. It twisted into rage a second later and he fought fiercely against Ichigo to get free. The fact that he had to use a fair bit of strength to keep Ishida anchored there was more than enough reminder that there really was nothing remotely feminine about him. Except how god damn beautiful his flinty eyes were when he was mad. Or intrigued, or pensive, or content. Or anytime, now that Ichigo thought about it. His eyes were beautiful no matter the emotion behind them.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

Blinking at the spontaneous outburst, he noticed Ishida had stilled for the moment but was appraising him as if whipping out his spirit bow to rain sparkly blue death down on Ichigo was a sensible option.

“Like what?” he wanted to know.

“Like you…like you’re…” Unable to finish, Ishida scoffed and said, “Never mind. I’ve had enough of this. Get your hands off me.”

“Only if I can put my mouth on you instead.”

“ _Kurosaki_!”

He glanced wistfully at Ishida’s lips. Even shaking with wrath, he was so fucking sexy. Ichigo couldn’t comprehend how he hadn’t seen it from the first night they met. Maybe he had and he just couldn’t own up to it until now. The revelation loomed paramount in his mind. Vital. He wasn’t willing to write it off for the sake of Ishida’s pointless stubbornness and groundless apprehensions. There was something very powerful between them, something that burned and lapped at his flesh like an ocean aflame. It would take a lot more than a handful of flimsy excuses to convince him this wasn’t worth exploring.

“Tell me you hated it when I kissed you, Ishida. Make me believe it and I’ll never bring it up again.”

He took a breath and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Ichigo’s heart thudded hopefully at the hesitation. Ishida looked away and swallowed thickly. His eyes closed in defeat. Some of the tension left his body and Ichigo’s restraining grip loosened in anticipation of letting it transition to an embrace. He was so ready to pull Ishida to his chest rather than push him against a dumb wall.

A leg hooked around the back of his knee as hands shoved at his shoulders. The move was executed so swiftly and with such precision that Ichigo didn’t have a chance to counter it. He hit the floor and Ishida fell with him, immediately pushing up to curl one fist into his shirt and the other around his throat. When Ichigo attempted to talk, a warning squeeze kept him quiet.

“All right, Kurosaki,” he began in an eerily even tone, equal parts lethal and seductive. “I’ll be man enough to admit I didn’t hate kissing you. Actually, the thought of doing it again makes my skin tingle and my blood heat. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Sure as hell doesn’t hurt.”

The flippant quip earned another harsh constriction. Ichigo flinched but didn’t object to the treatment since they were finally getting somewhere. Plus, he was really appreciating the way Ishida’s ass was so close to his dick. He bit his lip and fought the impulse to look down at where they were _almost_ touching.

“What you seem to be overlooking is how impractical it is, aside from the reasons I already mentioned. Has it occurred to you how our friends would react if they found out we were fucking?”

A pulse of arousal sped his heart to hear such a dirty word from Ishida ‘Polite-Speech’ Uryuu. It made concentrating on the overall message that much tougher.

“I’m sure they’d be fine with it once they got used to the idea.”

“Even Inoue-san?” Ichigo had no ready response to that but his discomfort was obvious. He viciously pressed, “She’s the one you should be _stalking_ , not me.”

“I don’t see her that way, Ishida. I know I’m supposed to but…I just don’t.”

He made a face, looking like he wanted to comment on Ichigo’s boundless idiocy yet again, but he skipped past the subject entirely.

“Assuming no one at school would care, it still wouldn’t work out between us. Where would we go to be alone? Have you forgotten both of our fathers can sense reiatsu? Your house or mine, one of them would know when we were in the same room together.”

“So, we’ll say we’re studying.”

Ishida shot him a flat, impatient glare. “Maybe your father would believe that but Ryuuken has slightly more advanced reasoning abilities. And he really does hate you, Kurosaki, I wasn’t kidding about that. Besides, if he suspected I wasn’t strictly heterosexual, he’d disown me in a heartbeat.”

Pondering that, Ichigo figured his dad probably wouldn’t give a crap even if he went home one day to announce Ishida was his boyfriend and they needed some privacy to go screw each other’s brains out upstairs. If anything, he’d just warn Yuzu not to bring them snacks.

“Wow, you really have thought this through. I didn’t expect you to take it that seriously but…I’m kinda glad you did.”

The pressure around his neck lessened that time. Ichigo took a chance by smoothing fingers down his forearm to gently disengage the aggressive grip. It worked. Ishida’s brow inverted as antagonism gave way to uncertainty. His breath hitched under the weight of whatever he was feeling now that it was all out in the open.

“Of course I would take it seriously,” he replied with forced scorn. “It’s not every day I get a proposition for sex from my best fr—”

Both pairs of eyes widened. Ishida cut himself off on a choking noise and rushed to rise so he could run, but Ichigo sat up to wind his arms securely around the boy’s waist. He pushed weakly at the hold, suddenly too breathless to shout at him for it.

“I’m your best friend?”

His face was bright red as he demanded, “Well, who else would it be?”

“I don’t know. Chad?”

“Sado-kun is _your_ best friend.”

At one time, absolutely. Now? He wasn’t so sure. Ichigo’s initial instinct was to tease him mercilessly. Weren’t they _enemies_ , he wanted to sneer, didn’t they _despise_ each other? But he didn’t say any of it. He couldn’t because Ishida looked so embarrassed, so vulnerable that he found himself offering reassurance instead.

“I’m okay with that. Being your best friend, I mean. I’d also be okay with being—”

“If you say ‘more than friends’, I swear I’ll—”

Ichigo couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed a hand into dark hair and reeled him in for a firm kiss. Ishida stiffened and made a muffled sound of surprise, but he didn’t launch a counterattack. It would’ve been easy. Ichigo’s limbs were all preoccupied, so he had free rein to punch or poke or pinch as he saw fit. Rather than hurt him, Ishida opened his mouth and let him inside. Groaning in gratitude, Ichigo reclined back to the floor and relished the way their bodies fit snugly together. Almost as if they were meant to. He knew Ishida would’ve berated him for the sentimental notion and he smiled around their kiss.

There was a rasp of a door sliding open and Ichigo felt the spark of reiatsu ignite for a split-second where they were touching. Then Ishida was across the room. Ichigo sat up to see him erasing the whiteboard as if he’d been there the whole time. One of their classmates walked into the room and halted when she spotted him sitting on the floor. Deciding it wasn’t worth the inquiry, she hurried to her desk to retrieve a notebook she’d forgotten before turning to leave once more. Trying very hard not to hold it against her, Ichigo seethed over the interruption.

“Stop glaring, Kurosaki, she’s already gone.”

Setting down the felt eraser, Ishida went to pick up his bag and draped it over his shoulder. Ichigo hurried to his feet, ignoring a pang of dismay at the connotations of that action. It swelled into a wave of despair as Ishida strode toward the door.

“Ishida, wait!” he cried, moving to intercept his escape. “Don’t go yet.”

“This isn’t the place.”

“I know. Sorry. If she spreads a rumor about us, I’ll fix it.”

“Fix it?” Ishida dubiously repeated. “How?”

“I’ll say I forced myself on you or something.”

He snorted and stated, “I would prefer everyone knowing I’m gay to thinking I was raped by the class delinquent.”

It was said so casually but Ichigo cringed on the buzzword. “Shit, don’t even say something like that, Ishida. Feels like a kick to the gut…”

His expression softened as he regarded Ichigo. He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “We should study tomorrow.”

“Huh?” Still hung up on the R-word, he switched mental gears and told Ishida, “Ah, sure. I don’t mind.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up as he stepped closer. “Great. Message me when you’re the only one home so we can _study_ in privacy.”

It clicked and Ichigo’s eyes lit up. “Really? You mean you want to…”

“Don’t make me regret this, Kurosaki.”

Ishida walked into the hall, tossing a glance over his shoulder before disappearing from view. Ichigo could’ve sworn he saw a smile.

The current configuration of Ichigo’s bedroom was unacceptable. He kept straightening and rearranging and tidying even though his space was usually clean anyway. It didn’t seem clean enough when Ishida would be there any minute.

Goat-chin and the twins were out somewhere—Ichigo couldn’t remember and he didn’t really care. All that mattered was they would be gone for a couple hours, which meant he and Ishida would have the whole house to themselves. Not that they needed the whole house for what they were going to do. Although he wouldn’t say no to a little shower playtime if the topic came up. Despite having showered extra thoroughly that morning. Hell, from the way he couldn’t quit fidgeting one would think he had first-date jitters!

Ichigo paused in the middle of aligning a stack of workbooks on his desk to process that alarming observation.

He _was_ jittery, wasn’t he? The absurdly neat state of his surroundings confirmed it. Walking over to his bed, Ichigo intentionally rumpled the covers so they wouldn’t look quite so pristine and uninviting. As he stared down at the stylishly tousled surface, he pictured Ishida lying there. Half-naked and flushed, looking up at Ichigo, the blue of his eyes darkened with pleasure. A shiver racked his frame and he quickly moved away from the bed.

An abrupt flare of familiar reiatsu made him jump as if a doorbell had loudly chimed. It might as well have because he could sense Ishida waiting outside. Ichigo padded downstairs, giving himself a last minute mental pep-talk on the way, and opened the front door to greet his guest. Dressed in dark jeans and a white hoodie over a brown v-neck, Ishida resembled any average seventeen year old student. Their eyes met across the threshold and he idly adjusted the strap of his messenger bag, waiting for Ichigo to invite him inside.

“Uh, hey. Come on in.”

“Forgive the intrusion,” Ishida softly intoned, ingrained courtesy superseding colloquial custom as he stepped out of his shoes by the door. “If you’re wondering why I’m a little late, it’s because I stopped for something along the way.”

“‘Something’?”

The crinkle of plastic accompanied the rummage through a pocket in his bag. Ishida withdrew a small bottle to show what he’d bought. It was lube. He had bought _lube_ on his way over to Ichigo’s house for their ‘study’ session. His head was buzzing with elation and lust and appreciation.

“I wasn’t about to take the chance that you didn’t have any.”

He didn’t, but the fact that Ishida had figured he wouldn’t was a bit insulting. It was true Ichigo wasn’t a chronic masturbator by any means—unlike Kon, that opportunistic bastard—but that didn’t automatically mean he was a total novice. He knew some things, useful things about male anatomy, and he had even done some research last night. Still, he wasn’t going to kick off their first time together with an argument.

“Good thinking,” he said, not missing the way Ishida’s features quirked in mild surprise. “Want anything to drink before we go up to my room? I think we have tea, coffee, and orange juice.”

“Green tea?”

Unsweetened, Ichigo knew. There were bound to be a ton of things he knew about Ishida without really knowing that he knew. Like how he preferred salty, stout, or sour over sweet. Or how he’d always rub the hem of his shirt over the top of any can before cracking it open, which he did when Ichigo handed him a cold one from the fridge. He watched Ishida sip from it and wondered when he’d become such an expert on the reclusive Quincy.

“Hungry?” he asked when his unwarranted focus caused a quizzical look. “We have miso-flavored chips. Your favorite, right?”

Ishida lowered the can to hold at waist-height and tilted his head a fraction. “Are you nervous, Kurosaki?”

His body signaled the red-alert but Ichigo played it cool. “No way. Why would I be?”

“Maybe because you’ve never done this before?”

‘This’ could have been applied to a host of various meanings. All of which would have been accurate. Ichigo hadn’t done anything, sex least of all. Ishida had been his first kiss a little over a week ago, which he’d probably surmised. Denial was futile.

“Neither have you,” he accused, testing. Ishida’s gaze was too perceptive for his liking.

Immeasurable relief cascaded down his spine when the assumption was confirmed. “No, I haven’t. So it doesn’t make sense for you to be nervous unless…”

A drop of sweat slid down the side of Ichigo’s neck. “Unless what?”

“Nothing. I’ll pass on the chips, by the way.”

Not waiting for him to lead the way, Ishida left the kitchen and trekked up to his bedroom. Ichigo stood there for a few moments longer, regrouping. _Unless what_ , he still wanted to know. He hated it when Ishida had a stroke of brilliant insight but refused to share until he was certain of its veracity. That was one of the reasons Ichigo had rushed headlong into the nefarious clutches of Xcution, out of fear for Ishida’s wounded ass without having any inkling how dangerous those Fullbring jerks really were. The memory of how terrified he’d been to hear about Tsukishima’s ruthless attack still made him tense every time.

Shaking his head to clear it, Ichigo grabbed a bottle of water and marched upstairs to join him.

Ishida was standing beside his desk. He had set his bag in the chair and was scrutinizing the area as though intuiting Ichigo’s compulsive attentions prior to his arrival. The tea was placed on the corner of his desk and Ishida turned to face him. There was something in his bearing, a kind of deliberate tension Ichigo had never seen him project before. It made him uncharacteristically antsy.

“What? If you want to say something—”

“This would be a lot easier if you’d stop acting like I’m going to attack you, Kurosaki. If anyone should be worried, it’s me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We both know you could immobilize me with the pressure of your reiatsu alone.”

“I would never—”

“I know.”

“Then why even bring it up?”

“Because you’re pissing me off,” he blurted, adopting a confrontational tone. “How long have we known each other? How much have we been through together? You’ve never backed down from a battle but here you are, ready to bolt from the prospect of sleeping with me.”

Understanding settled over him like a warm blanket. There were insecurities on both ends and Ishida was secretly just as anxious as him. The rigid set of Ichigo’s shoulders relaxed.

“I’m not ‘bolting’ anywhere, Ishida. I just don’t want to do anything that could scare you away. _That’s_ what I’m worried about.”

Comprehension dawned, swiftly followed by mollification. He looked down and muttered, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure I wanted this, dumbass. Your total lack of self-confidence is not attractive.”

“Neither is yours.”

His tone was gently teasing and Ishida’s head snapped up at his approach. Ichigo met his eyes for a couple of charged seconds before leaning in to kiss him. There was something magical about Ishida’s tongue, he would swear to it. Some kind of Quincy spell that made Ichigo lose his mind in zero seconds flat. His hands curved around Ishida’s lower back and spurred him closer. Ichigo wanted to eliminate the distance between them at all costs, wanted to feel his skin and taste him in ways no one else ever had. He wanted to hear Ishida moan and watch him melt in ecstasy. He wanted to…

“Kurosaki.”

“Hm?”

“Can I…?”

Ishida’s fingertips were flirting with the button on his pants and Ichigo’s brain short-circuited, overwhelmed with delight.

“ _Ohfuckyes_ ,” he exhaled in a rushed jumble.

The zipper whined as it was tugged down and Ishida sank to his knees. A frantic litany of ‘no way, no way, no way!’ swirled in Ichigo’s brain right before a hot tongue touched the head of his cock. He couldn’t believe his luck. It had to be a dream because the Ishida he knew would never do anything like this. He’d never curve his elegant fingers around the base of Ichigo’s erection and shyly glance up right before sucking him inside. It was almost more likely that this was an imposter than the real Ishida, proud to a fault. What had he done to deserve such an impossible honor? And what an honor it was, because his mouth was bliss incarnate. All the effort he’d put into becoming multilingual showed. Ichigo moaned out his approval, swaying in place when the pleasure threatened to send him sprawling.

Ishida let up long enough to ask, “What does it feel like?”

“You’re gonna find out,” Ichigo hoarsely vowed.

He seemed to like that answer, judging by the way he doubled down on suction and speed. Ishida started bobbing his head, eyes shut and letting these unobtrusive moans slip out between breaths. He enjoyed it, Ichigo realized. Whether it was because of who he was with or just what he was doing, Ishida was having fun all on his own. That key piece of information was almost too erotic to bear. Ichigo stopped him with a touch to his jaw when he couldn’t take it anymore.

“What is it?” Ishida asked with his flushed lips and his half-lidded eyes. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“God, no! It feels so good it’s _insane_.”

“Then why did you stop me?”

“Because I figured you wouldn’t thank me for shooting off in your mouth,” he candidly explained, “And I want to watch you first.”

“You want to watch me?” Ishida slowly rose to lean in close enough that their lips almost touched as he rephrased, “Are you gonna make me come, Kurosaki?”

“Hell yes,” he enthusiastically agreed and stole a couple of quick kisses.

He pinched the zip of Ishida’s hoodie and yanked it down before he knew what he was doing. Getting rid of the layers blocking his body from view was instinctual. Ichigo pushed the fabric down his arms, letting it drop to the floor, and immediately set to pulling off his shirt. The maneuver skewed Ishida’s glasses and he didn’t think twice about lifting them off the boy’s face for him, setting them on the desk beside them. Ichigo brushed dark hair back and kissed him deeply as his hands sought the fly of tight jeans.

The moment he held Ishida’s cock in his palm, he broke the kiss to moan about it. Ichigo gave it a few firm strokes and heard how the friction made him gasp. But he hadn’t been joking about wanting Ishida to know how amazing it felt to have a tongue there instead, so he didn’t linger long. Ichigo guided him by the hips to sit on his bed and knelt between spread knees. He pulled Ishida’s jeans and underwear the rest of the way off while he was there, and took a moment to savor the sight of him, utterly nude.

If he’d had any doubts—and by that point, he _really_ didn’t—they would’ve run screaming because Ichigo’s blood boiled at the enticing image he made. It was even better than he’d envisioned earlier and his mouth watered with the urge to taste all that smooth, pale flesh on display. Starting with the glossy tip of his erection. Ishida sighed out a breathy groan at the sensation, shifting his legs a little wider apart in response. His arms were braced behind him on the mattress to keep him upright and Ichigo could see how his fingers had clenched tightly into the blanket. It was nice to know he wasn’t awful at this.

Yet, it was clear his skills couldn’t quite measure up to Ishida’s, based on how long it took him to squirm in place and call out, “Kurosaki, st-stop!”

Ichigo eased off reluctantly. He loved the desperate divot between Ishida’s brow that proclaimed how close he was to being overtaken by rapture. And how hard he was breathing from it. And the sultry look in his eyes as he fixed them on Ichigo’s.

“Would you hit me if I took a picture of you right now?”

His lust-laden expression tilted toward appalled. “Yes. Several times. And I’d destroy your phone for good measure.”

“Worth a try,” he muttered to himself.

Ishida leaned forward to flick him in the forehead and said, “You’re wearing too many clothes. Fix that while I grab the lube.”

He pushed Ichigo back so he could get up and go to his bag. Though he knew Ishida had a valid point about his attire being altogether unnecessary, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it when he was captivated by the unimpeded view of a pert ass. His dick twitched eagerly and Ichigo gulped hard. Were they really going to…?

Suddenly scrambling up, he started shucking his clothes as Ishida turned to face him, bottle in hand. A series of happy shivers sparked across Ichigo’s skin to note he was being ogled. Well, Ishida had said there was ‘absolutely nothing wrong with his body’, which Ichigo interpreted as his roundabout way of admitting attraction.

“For the record, Ishida, I’d let you take a picture if you asked nicely.”

With a reflexive roll of his eyes, he instructed, “Shut up and lie down.”

Ichigo was moving toward the bed before it occurred to him to wonder why he needed to lie down, and why Ishida was the official Keeper of the Lube.

“Wait…Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

“Unlikely, seeing as my thoughts are typically concise and coherent.”

“I mean, which of us is that meant for?” he clarified, pointing to the bottle.

“Both, ideally.” Ichigo began to relax. Until he added, “But mostly for you, of course.”

“What!? Why ‘of course’? I don’t remember ever giving the impression that I’m dying to bend over and get—”

“Oh, stow your macho bullshit, Kurosaki. We both know you don’t have the patience to do it properly. I’m not letting you anywhere near my ass until you prove you have some semblance of restraint.”

_Ouch_. His jaw dropped at Ishida’s confidence in his lack of ability to prepare someone for butt sex.

“I can’t believe you just assumed I’d be fine with that!”

“Didn’t you assume the same about me?”

“Yeah, but that’s different,” argued Ichigo.

“How?” Ishida crossed his arms, the guarded stance clashing with his shameless hard-on.

“Because you’re…you know.”

“I’m _what_ , Kurosaki?” From the violent edge in his voice and the spiteful gleam in his eyes, Ichigo could tell he was on thin ice. He hesitated to answer and Ishida snarled, “Say it!”

Nope. Ichigo wasn’t gonna say it. Under no circumstances did Ishida need to hear the reasons he seemed better suited to a more submissive role in the bedroom. Even leaving his incriminating conjecture unspoken, Ichigo’s guilty countenance betrayed him anyway. Ishida clenched his jaw and walked past him to scoop his clothes from the floor. He was going to walk out, never to return, and would probably refuse to speak to him again.

Ichigo panicked. He knocked the bundle of fabric from his arms and tackled Ishida to the bed. There was a stunned intake of air that became an enraged growl. The trapped Quincy was so livid his eyes were glowing ethereal blue as the pressure of his spirit spiked. Countless hours of battle experience had Ichigo automatically clamping a hand around the silver pendant at his wrist as an essential precaution. The output of his own reiatsu innately increased in response to danger, which only pissed Ishida off even more.

“Fuck, I’m sorry!” he hurriedly apologized. “ _I’m sorry_ , all right? Just…calm down for a second. Please. I didn’t mean anything by it. Like you always say, I’m an idiot sometimes and—”

“ _Most_ of the time,” corrected Ishida through his teeth.

“Okay, yeah. I’m an idiot most of the time and I stick my foot in my mouth on a daily basis. So, I’m sorry if it sounded like I don’t respect you—because I do. I really, honestly do and I should have asked what you wanted before jumping to stupid conclusions. It’s just that you…” Trailing off, Ichigo’s gaze drifted south against his will. He weakly finished, “You’re so god damn gorgeous and I almost can’t think at all when I’m with you like this.”

“Turn it down.”

Forcing his eyes back up to Ishida’s, he grunted, “Huh?”

“Your reiatsu, Kurosaki. Turn it _down_.”

“Oh…uh, hold on.”

Shutting his eyes in concentration, Ichigo forced his spiritual hackles to settle. He felt Ishida’s tentatively ebbing, as well. When Ichigo opened his eyes he noticed the boy was visibly relieved, panting lightly as a drop of sweat slid down the side of his temple. How heavily had he been laying it on? One of these days he would learn to gauge his own freakish power.

“So much for ‘I would never’,” Ishida snidely remarked.

“It was an accident.” Considering that for a second, Ichigo let go of his bracelet and quietly repeated, “Sorry.”

“Quit apologizing. It’s pathetic.”

“What should I do, then? How can I get you to stay?”

“Don’t try to make me, for one.” Releasing a resigned sigh, he sat back to let Ishida move freely but all he did was prop up on his elbows and stare at Ichigo for a minute. “Just because you’re stronger doesn’t mean you’re more of a man than me, and it sure as hell doesn’t make me _girlier_ by comparison.”

Kinda hit the nail on the head with that one. Ichigo winced at his astute guess and agreed, “I know. And what you said about me being impatient is true anyway. You’d do it better than I could.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m serious, Ishida. I’ve seen what your hands are capable of and you’re one of the most meticulous people I know. If anyone would do a great job…” He glanced aside in contemplation for a long moment. Then Ichigo looked straight at him and declared, “So, yeah. I’m game—if you still want to, but I’ll understand if you don’t.”

Ishida’s eyebrows jumped up at that. He didn’t reply right away but appeared to be mulling the offer over. His gaze fell, alighting on Ichigo’s groin. His erection had diminished slightly due to the dour atmosphere but it wouldn’t wilt all the way as long as an undressed Ishida was anywhere in proximity. Ichigo couldn’t be bothered to worry about it since he wasn’t the only one graced with persistent anatomy. He was keenly aware that the jut of Ishida’s stiff dick was barely a handbreadth from his.

As though sensing naughty thoughts, his eyes flicked to Ichigo’s and he said, “I’ll pass. My patience has been taxed enough for one day.”

That was fair. Extremely disappointing, but fair. He started to scoot backward off Ishida, who clearly didn’t want him there, but a firm grip on his wrist kept Ichigo precisely where he was. His heart began thundering in his chest because Ishida had grabbed the forgotten lube and was squeezing some of it into the palm he’d snared. Using the hold to pull Ichigo down beside him, he took a dollop for himself and tossed the bottle in a random direction.

“What are—”

Two words into an important question, he had to give it up so he could groan instead. Ishida’s slick fingers had curled around his cock and were languidly stroking it back to full-staff. His eyes fluttered shut as his mouth fell open; it felt that damn good. Ichigo knew he was supposed to be returning the favor but he was momentarily paralyzed with pleasure. Ishida made it a hundred times worse by leaning in to kiss him. It was the first time he had kissed Ichigo, not the other way around, and that fact alone quaked through him like an explosion at the base of his spine. A liberal use of tongue on top of everything was the killing blow.

Inferring the useless putty Ishida had made of his mind, he helpfully guided Ichigo’s hand into position for him. He felt the heat of hard flesh and shuddered as he latched onto it like a lifeline. Ishida’s hips gave a shallow thrust of encouragement but he made an unhappy noise when he wasn’t getting what he needed.

“Tighter, Kurosaki,” he murmured against Ichigo’s lips, nipping the lower one in emphasis. The order was obediently carried out and Ishida gasped. “ _Yes_! Just like that…”

A sloppy sort of rhythm was established, kissing and pumping and panting as they dragged each other closer to the abyss. It was so much better than doing it to himself. Ichigo was conflicted, though. He was beyond ready for his climax but at the same time he didn’t want it to end. In an ideal world he would never have to stop touching Ishida and they could just keep coaxing orgasms from each other for hours, days, weeks without rest. Ichigo broke the kiss to catch his breath and take in the intense set of his partner’s features. He was trying to make it last, too, and probably for the exact same reasons.

“Are you close, Ishida?”

Without opening his eyes, he sucked in a shaky inhale and replied, “I’ve _been_ close for a while now.”

“Me, too.”

Ichigo laughed breathlessly and he saw a smile briefly bloom at the sound. Ishida peered at him through the haze of desire smothering them both and confessed, “I can’t hold back much longer.”

“Don’t. I want to watch you.”

He tugged harder and tightened his fist a tiny bit more to prove it. Ishida’s sliding grip on him slowed, then stilled as he started making these short, subdued noises that gradually grew into quiet moans. His hips were rocking and his back was arching. He was completely lost in it, and Ichigo was right there with him.

“ _Aanh_ , I-I’m coming, Kurosaki! I’m—”

Ishida threw his head back and cried out as his body snapped taut. Warm white fluid shot out again and again with each tremor, and Ichigo kept at it until he melted into the mattress on a ragged sigh. Seeing Ishida come was hotter than the best porn and his balls ached with the need to follow his example. Ichigo transferred the hand he’d just been using on him to his own erection and began jerking it ferociously. A few more seconds would’ve gotten him there but Ishida’s eyes slid open and he took hold of Ichigo’s wrist to halt him.

“ _Fuck_ , Ishida, I can’t—”

“Let me. I want to watch you, too.”

The mellow timbre of his voice was close to a purr and Ichigo wasn’t about to refuse when he had that look in his eye. Ishida propped up on an elbow and pushed him to lie flat on his back. His left hand smoothed down Ichigo’s front until it intersected with the hottest part of him. The first five or six strokes were intentionally light and leisurely, but all the ones that followed were just the opposite. He caught a glimpse of Ishida’s expectant expression before his eyes clenched shut on their own and would not open again. The fact that he wanted to watch, that he wanted to be the one to wring out Ichigo’s climax was almost as potent as the possessive way Ishida handled him—like Ichigo was already _his_ in every sense of the word.

“Unh!”

His release blindsided him. He didn’t even have time for a warning when his abs were already flexing hard, and the pressure in his groin snapped like a rubber band. Ishida was murmuring something against him, dragging open-mouthed kisses across his chest, but Ichigo couldn’t hear him clearly over the dull roar in his ears. Dimly, he realized he had grabbed Ishida’s upper arm. The contrast of skin tones and the slight give of flesh was immeasurably erotic for reasons he couldn’t begin to analyze. All Ichigo knew was it made him want to put his hands all over that slender frame just to see how they looked on Ishida’s body.

Ichigo urged him up for a kiss that felt different now the passion had cooled somewhat. When they parted, he asked Ishida what he’d just said.

The Quincy smirked and slyly repeated, “For a virgin, you sure know how to moan like a slut.”

He snorted. “Right back at you. I can already tell I’m going to hear you calling, ‘I’m coming, Kurosaki!’ in my dreams tonight.”

Ishida huffed and shook his head, reclining back to stare toward the ceiling. “Seemed like the thing to say at the time.”

“Can’t wait to hear you say it again.”

They shared a meaningful look and he wondered how soon he could get it up a second time. Very soon, if the heat he felt rising to the surface was any indication.

Charging on his bedside table, Ichigo’s phone vibrated with a message alert. He reached over, read the text, and snickered.

“What is it?” asked Ishida, leaning closer to catch a peek.

“It’s Chad, wanting to know if we’re all right. Says he felt our reiatsu from all the way across town.”

“He probably thinks we’re out fighting.”

“Yeah, each other maybe. Which we totally were.” Burrowed in a jeans pocket on the floor, Ishida’s cell twittered an alert of its own. “Bet that’s Inoue.”

“I bet you’re right.”

The solemn set of his features had Ichigo asking, “Do we have to hide this from them?”

“It’s for the best.”

“They’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Depends on how long it continues.”

He didn’t enjoy hearing the implication of an inevitable end. It wasn’t as if he’d thought they would eventually get hitched or anything crazy like that, but the idea of losing this newfound connection to Ishida made his throat constrict. Ichigo swallowed against the knot and decided their relationship was officially going on his permanent list of things worth fighting for.

“Hey, you should stay for dinner.” At Ishida’s blank look, he elaborated, “My dad will know you were here anyway and if you’re going to be coming over more often we might as well break the ice now.”

“What do you intend to tell him?”

“The truth, if he asks, but he probably won’t.”

He hummed vaguely, musing over his choices as he stared at Ichigo. “In that case…What’s for dinner?”


	3. Chapter 3

Ichigo turned the page in his textbook and read the practice problem he was supposed to be solving. He was trying to concentrate on finishing his homework like a good student, but he could see Ishida from the corner of his eye. The lines of his long body laid out belly-down on his bed were entirely too distracting. Ichigo had made a promise, though, that he couldn’t touch until his schoolwork was done. It was one of their ‘rules’ ever since he’d flunked a quiz the morning after one of their ‘study sessions’.

“Hey, Ishida,” he tried, nervously licking his lips. The boy’s pen paused above the page and he glanced up to catch Ichigo staring. “Can we take a break?”

Pushing upright from being propped on elbows, Ishida asked, “Are you hungry? It’s a little early to cook dinner but I could get us a snack or something.”

“No, I—Well, sure, if you’re hungry but that’s not what I meant.” Ishida waited and Ichigo cleared his throat, anticipating the reaction before he even said, “I was wondering if maybe we could, um, y’know…make-out?”

“Kurosaki, do you want to fail this semester?”

“Just for a few minutes, I swear! It’ll hold me over until I power through the rest of this.”

“No, it won’t,” Ishida argued, moving to the side of the mattress facing his desk, where Ichigo sat. “It will only make you want to keep going until we’re both too distracted to care about our assignments anymore.”

Ishida was speaking from experience, of course. Over the past two, nearly three weeks they had been spending a lot more time together under the pretense of ‘studying’. To be fair, they did get _some_ studying done. Just not as much as they would’ve been able to do separately.

“You’re right,” Ichigo admitted, then sighed. “This isn’t working.”

A flicker of emotion passed over Ishida’s features too quickly to read. His gaze fell as he asked, “Do you want to stop?”

Something about his tone urged Ichigo to seek clarification. “Stop what?” Ishida’s eyes sought his, assessing, but he didn’t respond. “You’d better not be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting. Unless…do _you_ want to stop?”

Hesitantly, he began, “I’ve been thinking—”

“Well, quit it,” blurted Ichigo. He went to sit beside Ishida on the bed as he insisted, “I don’t wanna stop anything we’ve been doing. I just meant us trying to do homework together isn’t working, but I can finish it before we meet up. Problem solved. Right?”

His stomach dropped to watch Ishida shake his head in response.

“That’s not the only problem, Kurosaki. There’s something I haven’t mentioned because…” His teeth worried at his lower lip for a moment, drawing Ichigo’s attention there and making him uneasy at the same time. “It’s embarrassing, and I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”

“What is it?” he asks, twice as nervous in an instant. “If it’s about sex-stuff—”

“No,” Ishida quickly denied despite a delicate blush. “It’s not about that, either.”

“Okay…But if it isn’t school or sex, then what?” Ichigo studied his pensive profile when the silence stretched uncomfortably. He touched his friend’s shoulder and gently encouraged, “Ishida, whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, shrugging off Ichigo’s hand and rising to pace away from him. “You’re only making it worse.”

Confused and tilting toward anxious, he remained seated to give Ishida the space he seemed to need but Ichigo couldn’t keep from asking, “Making _what_ worse?”

Ishida drew a deep breath and finally answered, “I think I might kind of like you, Kurosaki,” but he said it the same way someone would announce they had terminal cancer. “I-I’m starting to actually _like you_ and…I’m not sure how I feel about the idea of wanting more when we haven’t even…” He swallowed, broke eye contact with Ichigo as the color on his cheeks intensified, and quietly finished, “Gone all the way with each other yet. So, maybe we should just stop.”

Ichigo took a minute to process all of that. He already knew he didn’t want to give up his private-time with Ishida. He also knew he’d been growing to actually like Ishida, too, and it made him happy to hear he wasn’t alone in that. What Ichigo didn’t know was how to propose something like ‘going steady’ without sounding super lame or freaking Ishida out.

He stood and slowly approached as he began, “Wanna know what I think?” Ichigo waited for him to look up before he continued, “You’d make a great boyfriend, Ishida.”

Surprise shifted to a small, self-conscious smile. “You’re only saying that because you want to sleep with me.”

“Yeah,” Ichigo agreed, returning his smile, “I want to sleep with you so I can wake up beside you, kiss you good morning, and offer to make us breakfast even though we both know I can’t cook.”

The intention was to make Ishida’s smile widen, but it had the opposite effect. Ichigo’s fell away in turn but it was okay because Ishida stepped closer to kiss him. Although it was lighter than most and didn’t last long, it felt amazing to Ichigo since he understood what it represented: Ishida was thrilled to hear Ichigo imply he wanted more, too.

The way Ishida smirked flirtatiously afterward was also promising.

“What else do you want to do with me?”

“So many things,” Ichigo murmured, leaning in to kiss his neck.

“I’d love to hear all about it,” he purred, then leaned out of range to finish, “ _after_ our homework is done.”

“Ugggh, come on, I’ll do it in the morning.”

“I’m not dating a drop-out.”

Ishida turned away but Ichigo took his hand so he couldn’t escape. There was only one thing he could think of that might convince Ishida to forget about their stupid homework. And he would’ve been lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about it a lot lately.

“Let’s do it tonight.”

“What?”

“You know. _It_.” Ishida was looking at him like he was totally nuts. “Full-on sex. As in, your dick in my—”

“All right, I get it! You don’t have to paint me a picture.”

“I want to. Don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then what are we waiting for? Your dad’s out of town until Monday and we’ve still got lube. Do we need condoms? I’ll get some.”

“Kurosaki,” he called and kept Ichigo from dashing out of the room to make a condom-run. “We don’t need them.”

“We don’t?”

“We’ve never been with anyone else and neither of us is getting pregnant.” Ishida was trying not to laugh at his enthusiasm but it wasn’t quite working. “So, no, we don’t.”

“Okay, great.”

Ichigo tried to kiss him to get the ball rolling but he frowned when Ishida wouldn’t let him. Ichigo was sure his plan had been foiled but hope sprang anew when Ishida said, “If we’re doing this…”  
  


“Yeah?”

“We should shower first.” Before Ichigo could get excited, he added, “Separately.”

“Ishida—”

“If we go together we’ll just end up fooling around in the shower instead and you know it.”

He was right and Ichigo did know it, which is why he shut his mouth and went to find the guest shower Ishida directed him toward. Ichigo even made a point to get extra squeaky clean for Ishida’s benefit. The chances that they could do this again sometime depended on not grossing each other out the first time they tried it—along with a bunch of other factors he was trying not to stress about. There were already too many things to stress about.

Bottom line: Ichigo was nervous but he trusted Ishida completely, and that was all that really mattered.

Finding Ishida sitting on the bed, droplet-dotted with nothing but a towel around his waist, did wonders to calm Ichigo down when he returned. So did the bottle of lube, conveniently placed next to him. They were finally going to do it!

In his newfound eagerness, he practically tackled Ishida and began making out with him like he was still trying to win the game they hadn’t really played in weeks. Ichigo made no move to resist when Ishida reversed their positions, kissing him back just as passionately. And if Ichigo had thought Ishida was a great kisser at first, repeated practice had only improved his skills. Mere seconds was all he could stand before he was reaching to remove Ishida’s towel, but a firm grip of his wrist ruined it.

“You can’t fuck me with a towel on,” Ichigo broke the kiss to complain. “That just sounds uncomfortable.”

Ishida laughed and agreed, “Guaranteed chafing.”

“Exactly, so hurry up and take it off.”

“I will,” he said as he straddled Ichigo and sat upright in his lap. “First I need you to promise me one thing, Kurosaki: you have to be patient and follow my instructions, no matter what. Think you can manage that?”

Propping up on his arms, he gave Ishida an exasperated look but swore, “Yeah, I can manage it.”

“Good boy.”

He ran his fingers through Ichigo’s hair, sort of like he was petting a dog, and it should’ve felt demeaning or whatever but it actually felt really nice. It felt even nicer when Ishida held the back of his head and kissed him _hard_. His palm went roaming down Ichigo’s front, tugging the towel open to access the erection his kiss was coaxing into life. Ishida started stroking it with a tight fist, making Ichigo gasp and tense from the sudden rush of pleasure.

“Whoa,” he turned away to breathe out, and Ishida immediately went to sucking on his throat in the interim. “Might wanna slow down a little unless you’re trying to make me come in under five minutes flat.”

Ishida nipped him lightly, licked at the sting, and replied, “Maybe I am.”

“But—Oh, shit!” Ichigo had to chase his breath for a few seconds because Ishida had abandoned his neck to suck on the head of his cock instead. “I-I’m no expert but won’t it f-feel a lot better if you do it while I’m still horny?”

He let up long enough to confirm, “Mm, I doubt you would enjoy anal penetration much at all if you weren’t aroused.”

The words were not sexy but, somehow, the way Ishida said them was. Ichigo shivered and fought to stay clear-headed in spite of what Ishida’s tongue was doing to him.

“Then why are you—”

“I’m not fucking you tonight, Kurosaki.”

“Oh…”

“You’re going to fuck me.”

“I am!? But you said—”

“So?” Smirking at his incredulity, Ishida teased, “I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?”

“I-I mean, yeah, I guess but…” What _had_ changed his mind?

He read the question all over Ichigo’s face and explained, “I know you’re willing but that’s not what you really want, is it?”

Ishida wasn’t waiting for an answer but Ichigo replied honestly, “All I want is to make you feel good, Ishida.”

The way he stared at Ichigo after that was a little unnerving, but Ishida made up for it by kissing him like it was the most romantic thing he’d ever heard.

“God, Kurosaki, if you weren’t such an idiot I’d think you were secretly an evil genius.”

“Fuck off,” he retorted, but his laughter ruined the effect. “Seriously, though, I’m fine with being the one who gets—”

“Oh, no. You’re not getting off that easily,” Ishida said, snickering at his own pun. “I’m going to let you do most of the work tonight.”

“So, that’s what it is, huh? Now who’s the evil genius?”

“Well, if you don’t want to fuck me…” He started to pull away until Ichigo caught him and rolled them over to keep him trapped. “That’s what I figured.”

“You win, Ishida. Tell me what to do.”

“Step one: make you come.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he began, reaching down to tease the underside of Ichigo’s shaft with soft fingertips, “you’ll listen better if we take care of this first, and I know for a fact you won’t have a problem getting hard again once I’m ready for you.”

Groaning past a bitten lip, Ichigo begged, “Say that last part again?”

A sultry smile spread. Ishida gripped his dick firmly as he said, “Bet you can’t wait ‘til I’m ready for you, Kurosaki. That moment when you finally push inside me, so hot and tight around your cock—”

He probably would have gone on a bit longer but Ichigo couldn’t take it anymore. Both of their towels disappeared and suddenly he was grinding against Ishida, kissing him sloppily between fast breaths. It was sort of annoying how right he was about Ichigo’s lack of impulse control when he was this turned-on, but there was no point denying the truth. Regardless, he had promised to do whatever Ishida told him to and Ichigo wasn’t about to risk pissing him off over his own ego.

Ishida stopped him with a grip of his hips and Ichigo complained, “What now?”

“Stop humping me and let me suck you off.”

Well, he wasn’t going to argue over that. He let Ishida push him to his back on the bed and get right to it. Ichigo shut his eyes and let himself be swept away on the current of pleasure Ishida was creating inside him. He was so good at it that Ichigo usually had to hold back with all his might, but not this time. This time, he didn’t resist at all.

“Ishida, I’m gonna come,” he warned breathlessly.

Rather than ease up and finish Ichigo with his hand, he stayed and swallowed. Ishida had never done that before. It was hot, though, Ichigo decided as he gasped and panted through the aftershocks. _Really_ hot. He wanted to ask what had inspired that change of protocol, but he got distracted when Ishida gave him the lube and lay face-down beside him.

“Start with one finger and _go slowly_ or this is never happening again,” he told Ichigo with a stern look.

“Since when were you afraid of a little pain?”

“I’ve endured enough pain from Shinigami swords for one lifetime, don’t you think?” Ishida flippantly retorted.

He was right, of course. Contrite, Ichigo rolled over and kissed his shoulder. “Then I’ll make sure my ‘sword’ only gives you pleasure.”

Ishida rolled his eyes at that but returned the kiss Ichigo ducked down to give.

Running a palm down the center of Ishida’s back, he caressed the curve of his ass and lightly squeezed. He gave no verbal reaction but his breathing sped up a little more. Ichigo smirked as he got on his knees between Ishida’s thighs, spreading them wider with a firm nudge. That made him breathe even faster, peeking at Ichigo over his shoulder.

When he gripped a pillow in one hand and the side of Ishida’s waist with the other, he asked, “What are you doing, Kurosaki?”

“It’ll be easier if we prop your hips up a little.”

“Putting a pillow there would get it dirty,” Ishida objected half-heartedly.

“I’ll wash it for you later.” Without waiting for agreement, Ichigo raised his hips and wedged the pillow beneath him for a much better angle. He stared at Ishida’s exposed ass, feeling an eager stirring in his groin, and licked his lips before asking, “Can I use my tongue?”

Ichigo was so focused on the enticing view right in front of him that he almost missed the way Ishida blushed and nodded consent. He cupped each cheek in a palm and leaned in to lave a gentle swirl between them. Ishida made a soft sound of surprise and—Ichigo hoped—pleasure. He did it again, and again, noticing how that tiny pucker was just beginning to relax. Ichigo poked his tongue into the center of it and heard Ishida gasp sharply.

It was tempting to check in for reassurance that he was actually enjoying this, but Ichigo knew he’d hear about it immediately if that wasn’t the case. In a way, Ishida’s readiness to bitch at him came in handy for this sort of thing. No griping meant Ichigo was doing well, or at least well enough that Ishida was mostly satisfied with his performance.

Encouraged by the silence in context, Ichigo pressed his tongue in more firmly and kissed around it with light suction, similar to how he’d kiss Ishida’s mouth. After a few minutes of that, he was panting noticeably. Ichigo reached down between the plush pillow and Ishida’s flat belly to touch the rigid flesh trapped there. A strong pulse of pride and lust erupted in his chest to feel it slick with precum. Lots of it. Now Ichigo understood why he’d been worried about the pillow: it would be soaked long before they were done!

“Don’t make me come,” Ishida hoarsely reminded when he continued to idly rub there for several seconds.

Ichigo obediently withdrew his hand but kept licking and pushing deeper into him. He explored as far as his tongue could reach, then finally let up to pop the cap on the bottle he held. Slicking one finger, as instructed, he paused to glance over Ishida and make sure it was safe to continue.

“You good?”

The one eye that Ichigo could see when he glanced back was half-lidded and glazed. His mouth was parted, lower lip bright red and glossy from being bitten repeatedly. Ishida nodded, currently incapable of speech, and sucked in a big breath to brace himself.

His finger slid in to the second knuckle smoothly. Ichigo paused there not only for Ishida’s sake, but also his own. He was already getting hard again and feeling that soft heat constricting around his finger made him lightheaded with anticipation. Ichigo wiggled it testingly, rotating slightly when there was some give.

“ _Shit_ ,” Ishida hissed, squirming a bit. “That feels so strange…”

“Should I st—”

“No, don’t stop,” he said hurriedly. “Just try not to twist it around so much at first.”

“Got it.” Ichigo paused, then tentatively warned, “I’m gonna add a second finger, okay?”

“Go ahead.”

He gingerly took his finger out and slicked two of them before inching back in. Proceeding very gradually, he made circular motions with his fingertips to coax the muscles open as he went. Ishida’s breathing switched from light and quick to deliberately deep and slow. If he was uncomfortable, he didn’t mention it. Ichigo wondered if that meant he was looking forward to this just as much as him.

His instinct was to keep working his way in as far as he could go, but he forced himself to halt halfway and give Ishida a moment of adjustment. Ichigo knew he would have to do the same thing once his dick was lodged there instead, and he gulped at the monumental challenge ahead of him because he could already tell it was going to feel _magnificent_.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself as he pushed the rest of the way in and pulled almost all the way back out, mimicking what he actually wanted to do, more than anything.

His erection started throbbing to hear him invite, “Just do it, Kurosaki.”

Oh, how he wanted to! But Ichigo sagely said, “Not yet. You’re still too tight.”

He added more lube and kept carefully finger-fucking Ishida at a measured pace that was probably driving them both crazy. Right about the time his balls started aching for it, Ichigo was shocked to hear him snap, “That’s enough, idiot. Get your cock inside me _now_.”

“Damn, Ishida,” he said, chuckling. “You’re the bossiest power bottom I’ve ever met.”

“Met many of us, have you?”

“Ah, so you admit you’re a bottom,” teased Ichigo as he withdrew his fingers and lubed up his erection.

“Not after tonight if you don’t shut—” Ishida’s gasp cut him off when Ichigo began to push inside. “ _Ah_ …”

That was a lovely sound. Ichigo loved hearing all of Ishida’s noises because it almost always meant he was feeling quite nice. But he went silent the next second, shoulders tensing, and Ichigo instantly stopped moving.

Attempting to breathe through the rush for a hint of clarity, he asked, “Okay, Ishida?”

“You feel…larger than you look,” he answered after a moment. Recognizing Ichigo’s disappointment at that statement, he amended, “ _Even_ larger. But I can take it. Keep going.”

He obeyed, slowly thrusting in straight to the root. Once he was there, he bent forward to align their bodies and braced on an elbow to keep most of his weight off Ishida. Ichigo’s free hand slid down the front of his long torso and lightly palmed the hot, wet head of his dick. Ishida made another one of those lovely sounds for him as his tension started to ease, inside and out. With some of that insane pressure around his cock lessening, Ichigo could breathe freely again.

“Thank you,” he murmured between kisses to Ishida’s shoulder, throat, and jaw. “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this but I’m fucking ecstatic. Seriously.”

Turning his flushed face to meet Ichigo’s grateful gaze, he admitted, “You’re not the only one who’s enjoying themselves here.” Ishida caught his swiveling wrist and finished, “So, quit touching me unless you want this to be over within thirty seconds.”

Ichigo huffed a light laugh but did as he was told. He moved his hand to hold Ishida’s waist instead. Pulling partway out and pushing back in, Ichigo repeated the movement a few more times while gauging the reaction. Ishida turned his face back toward the mattress, making it difficult to read his expressions, but the way he groaned and gripped at the sheets seemed promising.

“How is it?” Ichigo needed to know.

“Weird…but good.”

“Just good?”

Ishida didn’t respond. ‘Just good’ wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted it to be great, god damn it! _Fantastic_ , even. He wanted to make Ishida feel so amazing that he’d want to do this with him over and over again. So wonderful that he’d have absolutely nothing to gripe about for a change. So delighted that he’d never mention ‘studying first’ ever again. There was only one surefire way Ichigo knew to make it happen.

“What are you doing?” Ishida asked when his hips were pulled upward and the pillow beneath them was flung aside.

“Finding your prostate,” Ichigo replied, thrusting in at a new angle.

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“I promise you, it isn’t. I’m—”

Ishida started to say something else but was startled silent when Ichigo’s teeth sank into the soft spot of his shoulder. Even his moan sounded surprised. So did the next one, when he changed the angle yet again and Ishida clamped down around him with a muffled cry.

“Did I hit it?” He kept thrusting and Ishida kept gasping, so he figured it was safe to assume the answer was ‘yes’. “Awesome.”

His victory was short-lived, however, when maybe a minute passed and Ishida announced in a strained voice, “I’m gonna come, Kurosaki!”

Ichigo’s hips stuttered, “What? No! Please, Ishida, not yet.”

“That’s why I…told you not to…” He gave a short, aggravated groan and yanked Ichigo’s hand down to grip the base of his cock and balls. “ _Tighter_.”

His fist cinched and held as he kept fucking Ishida at the magic angle. The way he shivered hard and moaned plaintively was almost Ichigo’s undoing. Particularly once he realized Ishida was leaving the timing of his climax in Ichigo’s hands—literally—because he’d begged for it.

“Ishida,” he murmured against a reddened ear before sucking on the lobe, inspiring a very lovely sound indeed. “I’m close.”

“Come inside me,” he told Ichigo. “I want to know…what it feels like.”

He couldn’t last more than a couple of minutes after that. Right before he came, he released his grip on Ishida’s cock and felt him go off like a shot. His strangled groan made Ichigo’s skin tingle giddily as he slowed to a stop and just held Ishida while they both endeavored to catch their breath. Ichigo reached back down to gently pet his half-hard dick and felt a little more come spill out into his hand.

“Shit, that’s hot,” he praised, and kept rubbing until Ishida wriggled in his hold. Ichigo pulled out and they readjusted to lie on their sides, but he still wouldn’t let Ishida out of his arms. “That was so hot. You’re so fucking hot, Ishida.”

“You’re the one who’s hot, Kurosaki. Look at you, sweating all over me. When are you going to let go?”

“Never,” Ichigo claimed, kissing a path up his neck to his lips. “Next time, I wanna do it face-to-face so I can kiss you the whole time.”

“It’s hard enough to breathe without your mouth getting in my way.”

Ichigo laughed, then looked him over as he asked, “How do you feel?”

“Worn out.”

“No, I mean…I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Ishida stared at him for a moment. He shook his head and said, “You lived up to your word: no pain, only pleasure.” A relieved smile spread. Ichigo nuzzled against him, kissing spots at random. He froze when Ishida asked, “Were you serious about what you said earlier? Do you really want me to…be your boyfriend?”

He was embarrassed for saying it and blushing to prove it. Ichigo sincerely told him, “Yeah, I do. I meant what I said about waking up together and cooking breakfast, too, if you were wondering.”

“You’re banned from the kitchen for a reason.” Ishida smiled warmly and added, “But you’re welcome in my bed anytime.”

Then Ichigo kissed his temple, of all places, and neither one of them thought it was weird.


End file.
